WITH the exception of the young and thoughtless, who only look forward to a season of festivity and enjoyment, and of the callous and indifferent, who seldom think of such matters at all, the varied feelings which hail the approach of Christmas may be compared to those occasioned by the contemplation of advancing age—of age so different in its aspects, whether we behold our fellow-mortals sinking down into the vale of years alone, neglected and unloved; alienated from kindred and friends, and still retaining the unholy animosities of earlier years; unsubdued by religion, unsupported by the contemplation of a useful and virtuous life; or, on the contrary, surrounded by loved and loving hearts, looking back with gratitude and pleasure to the past, and with hope and resignation to the future, in peace, and love, and charity with all! Many a family in embarrassed circumstances, many a poor widow with a “limited income,” looks on the increased expenses of this season of the year, on its bills and various claims, with the same feelings which anticipate the infirmities of declining years and sharp attacks of rheumatism and gout. Many look forward to increased domestic comfort, and brighter firesides. Many a mother smiles with delight on her children, all assembled round her once more. Many a father rejoices in their joyous laughter, or in the affection and reverence of maturer age. Many an old friend is welcomed to the social board. But, alas! there are many, too, who look back with a dreary regret to the years that are gone, and think, how different Christmas Day seems now to what it was!
Such melancholy thoughts were revolving in the mind of a man of dignified and venerable aspect, pacing gloomily up and down the splendid library of a fine old mansion. It was almost dark, and the glare of the fire played over the rich volumes, and on the antique carving of the furniture. He looked with a sigh at the hearth, once crowded with happy faces. One only remained, and ah! how changed from the blooming figure of earlier days, which rose before him! How feebly that once beautiful head lay on the rich velvet cushion of her chair! How much suffering and sorrow might be traced on that furrowed brow! He felt that her reverie was as sad as his own; and truly too, for she was thinking of many a fair child that had gone down to the tomb in all the promise of early youth!—of the pride and joy of seeing them assembled at Christmas, well and happy!—of the joyous holiday-makings and merry meetings!—of the tearful partings, and the agony of those final ones, when the thin, small hand, pressed in its tiny grasp the last life greeting!
Still she could think of the departed with the softened and resigned feelings which religion and time never fail to produce. But that which fell most heavily on her heart and darkened her declining years, was, that the last and only surviving one—the boy whom she had loved best—whom she had watched over with such intense fear and anxiety—was still a stranger from his father’s home. Month after month passed, and still both, in their pride, hung back from any attempt at a reconciliation. She felt that many more might not elapse before she would be far beyond the reach of mediation, and with a mother’s and a wife’s love she longed to see them united again ere she departed. Presently she walked to the window, and laid her thin white hand on the arm of her husband.
“I see you still love to watch the rooks going to rest in the old elm-trees.”
“Yes,” said Sir John, hastily; “it is amusing to watch their odd flights, and to imagine you can distinguish the croak of a particular bird.” He would not say that it was Edward’s favourite pastime when a boy, but his companion knew well that he thought of the time when both used to stand there together. “But who is this coming up the avenue?” he said at length, as if willing to shake off the chain of thought. “Mrs. Hope, I fancy, by her black dress. I suppose she is come to tell us all about the dinner, as she promised.”
No door ever opened on a better, or kinder, or more zealous village schoolmistress, than did this stately one on the spare, timid little body who now advanced. No one ever looked more placidly happy, and no one more pleased and grateful, when she was kindly placed in the most comfortable of chairs by Sir John, and welcomed with a cordial smile by his lady.
“I came up to tell you, sir, that everything was done as you desired. The children were so happy, it quite did one’s heart good to see them. They all came in the morning with evergreens and holly, and we made some beautiful wreaths to set off the room. Their new dresses look very nice, and they are truly thankful to you for your kindness. The coals and blankets, and other things, are all sent home too, and many say they shall thank Sir John for a happy Christmas; which they wish in return, with all their hearts, I am sure,” continued the good little woman, with emotion; “for, thank God, very few among them are ungrateful.”
Sir John’s benevolent countenance brightened with pleasure as he listened to the kind schoolmistress’s further recital of the village festivities, to which he had contributed so largely; and his wife marvelled how the heart of so good a man could be so unrelenting as she knew it was.
Perhaps similar thoughts were passing in the mind of Mrs. Hope; for after she had told all she ostensibly had to tell, and felt that it was time for her to depart, she still lingered, and yet hesitated to speak.
“Is there anything you wish to say to us, Mrs. Hope?” said the lady, kindly; “pray do not be afraid to mention anything in which we can be of service to you. Is your son——”
“I thank your ladyship, I was not thinking of him then, but of some one very different. I thought you might like to know, and yet was not sure—but Mr. Edward and his lady came over to the school-house to-day,” said she, as if from a desperate resolution, “and my heart was quite full to see them come and go away again like strangers—just at Christmas time, too!” Poor little Mrs. Hope trembled, for she saw that Sir John’s brow darkened, and he drew back in his chair in an agitated manner; but an encouraging look from the lady re-assured her. “It was very pleasant to see him again,” she continued, “in the little parlour where he often used to sit years ago, and give the prizes out to the children, and speak encouragingly to them. I thought he had forgotten the old place, and all he was so good to; but he told me he had been longing to see it, and never could feel so happy anywhere else.”
“Poor Edward!” said the lady, with emotion. “How does he look?”
“Very pale and delicate, ma’am; but just the same as ever—just the same noble look,” said Mrs. Hope, fast gathering courage, “although not quite so joyful like as it used to be. He made particular inquiries as to how his father and mother looked, and seemed terribly cast down when I told him how poorly you had both been.”
“Did he, indeed!” exclaimed Sir. John, starting from his seat, and pacing up and down; “why did you not let me know he was with you?”
“I feared you did not wish to know it,” was the reply. “But oh, Sir John! in my humble way I did think it strange that, in an erring world like this, your heart should be turned from two such children!”
Tears were running fast down the face of the good little schoolmistress. She hurried away; but her Magic Words were not spoken in vain.
Day & Son, lithrs to the Queen.